


Not Exactly Shakespeare

by Blue_Jay



Series: Remove All the Pieces + Prompts [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s05e09 The Real Ghostbusters, F/F, F/M, Food Issues, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse - Minor Character, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV Outsider, Post Swan Song, Post-Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice, Prompt Fic, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Stanford Era, Thanksgiving, The Winchester Gospels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 16:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Jay/pseuds/Blue_Jay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchester always leave an impression, whether they mean to or not. Sometimes even when they're fictional.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Exactly Shakespeare

**Author's Note:**

> I've got like less than a week until school, so the few prompts I have left will all be doubled if I can manage. Outsider POV on the Winchesters and people who knew them reading The Winchester Gospels fit that description well enough.
> 
> Also, I apologize in advance. I wrote this, looked back, and I'm seriously confused about this entire thing ESPECIALLY BECKY WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO I ACTUALLY LIKE HER FOR SOME REASON.

Ryan Rickman teaches Freshman Writing at Stanford, the class' concentration on World Folklore - large topic, yes, but this ensures no two thesis papers are the same. That's what today's individual meetings are about. Thesis topics. Not the papers themselves, no. But why the student decided on the subject matter. Always his favorite part of his class, the answer to why. Purpose for human existence, after all. The leap from point A to point B. The best is when the students themselves aren't positive of their own reasoning. Their minds are treasure boxes and his help are the keys (or so he likes to thinks).

Now it's 2:45 on the nose and Sam Winchester knocks on his open office door. He motions for the boy to come in, all some-height-over-six-feet him taking the seat across the desk, looking like he's trying to make himself smaller. They exchange the awkward pleasantries and Ryan asks if he's thought up a topic yet. "Purification in various world mythologies," Sam answers, running the corner of his notebook under his nail. "You know, cleanse from evil - if you believe in that sort of thing."

Contemplating for a moment, Ryan says, "Interesting, but lacking. 'Evil' is too broad. Very broad. Societal, poisoned nature, cursed objects? Specify."

"Individual evil, maybe, if I can find it," the boy answers, fidgeting in the chair as most do under scrutiny of aging professors. And at sixty-eight, Ryan most definitely fits the definition of aging, unlike Patrice who already says "back in my day" when she's only thirty-four. Sam continues, "Just, a person. Singular, I guess. Maybe. I might have to limit the folklore to more specific areas though. I wanted to clear it by you first, so I haven't looked into it much more than what I already know."

"Why choose this as your thesis?"

He looks up. The light turns his eyes gold when not a minute ago they looked dark blue. "What?"

"Why choose this as your thesis?" Ryan repeats. "You'll have trouble with writing the full thirty pages if this is a topic you just found off an internet random topic generator or whatever you kids use."

There's a pause. Then, "I don't like messes," as if the concept of "evil" is that easily broken down. "So I guess if a person is a mess - not possessed, just a mess - then there has to be a way to clean them up, right?"

Ah. Someone in his family is an alcoholic, or some other sort of addict. Depending on this paper, maybe he should write a letter recommending Sam to guidance. It certainly explains the ragamuffin look about him: scruffy hair, worn down clothes, perpetual layers. His intelligence, mannerisms, and scores are simply so spot-on that Ryan supposes he didn't want to think anything of it. There are twenty-two other students after all in Freshman Writing World Folklore (fifty-six, if you combine all his classes), and Scott Freeman and Brian Spirig look much more the part of wayward souls. Cold eyes. Black nails. Gloves even in the warmer months.

Meanwhile, Sam Winchester's writing always has such beautiful focus. Ryan wouldn't have been able to infer this addict theory without digging for the answer of  _why._

He smiles. "Yes, I suppose you're right," he answers and scribbles  _purification_ next on the attendance sheet.

_If you believe in that sort of thing._

He thinks that Sam believes in that sort of thing.

 

 

Since Rockwell, New Hampshire is such a small town, it doesn't get many visitors, so even though the two are just sitting together on a park bench, pretty much everybody pegs the two incredibly tall, incredibly  _attractive_ men as strangers instantly. Most people don't pay them much mind after that, continuing on with their business, but Casey's bored, Ana's not much better, and it's not much of an informed decision when they sneak close enough to be in earshot. Which, to be totally honest, is pretty freaking close considering how quiet these two are. But ugh, the short (who isn't really all that short) one's eyes are just  _made_ of sex.

Mom would kill her if she heard that. Thirteen's too young to be thinking that way, she'd say. Well, whatever. They're  _green._ Ana bites her lip like she's agreeing, which she probably is and she's thinks she's so much smarter about it, in seventh grade and already not a finger virgin or whatever. Who cares if Casey hasn't even had her first kiss yet? At least she's had half a beer and that's more than any of their friends can say.

Anyway, that's not a point. What is the point is Tall Guy saying, "I'm sorry for - assuming, Dean."

 _Dean._ Green Eyes is Dean. Ana glances at her, wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. This _Dean_ answers, "We've been...this for like a month, Sammy. I'm not fucking that up for some chick I had thing with for three weeks. Though I got to say, you're hot when you're jealous."

Ooo, and the two boys are actually  _together_. Like, together-together. Scandalous. Dad would probably growl something about how that isn’t right, but Casey is much more _progressive thinking_ than adults these days, like Mrs. Johnson says they should be because she’s the only teacher who doesn’t treat them like they’re two. Ana elbows her in the side, nods towards them as Tall Guy - Sammy, apparently - scoots closer to his (oh!) boyfriend. 

"Shut up and just tell me about the case." Again, Casey and Ana exchange looks. Sexy detective romance? Like, on all those cop shows? She has bets on Sammy being on the socially awkward one. He's so tall with such geeky hair. "And I'll make it up to you later. I just...yeah. Guess I'm not - Nevermind. No chick-flick moments. So, details?"

Next to her, Ana rustles for something and a moment later pulls out a piece of paper and the sparkly purple pen she won in Mrs. Royce's Advanced English spelling bee.  _still bright enough we won't need flash_ , she writes. _phone's broken._

Oh - oh! Yeah, Casey totally should've thought of that. She fumbles to pull hers out of her jacket pocket, cursing the number of buttons it has. "Three disappearances in the past month. All children who suddenly started freaking out a few days ahead of time about a monster in their closet or under their bed. Houses locked from the inside, no break-ins. Windows shut and locked. No fingerprints."

Okay, so totally weird, she's thinking as she opens her camera and angles the phone, but whatever. They're hot. Maybe they're working Missing Persons. People. Is persons a word? Also whatever. Mom says she shouldn't say whatever so much. Sammy asks Dean what he thinks they're after and takes a sip of beer Casey didn't notice he had. Not the same type she shared with Andy Sanders from Norwich at Rei’s bonfire on the beach six weeks ago.

"I don't know, Sam," Dean says, standing and grabbing his boyfriend by the upper arm to pull him up too. "The Boogeyman?"

Ana bites the side of her hand to stifle a laugh and Sammy gives a smile that makes Casey's insides melt. She's keeping this picture  _forever._

 

 

On a Thursday, Chuck Shurley gets notice that someone is finally dumb enough to publish his terribly written books. He sends back a thank you and requests a penname. 

He thinks that Thursday is a good day and goes back to sleep.

 

 

Normally Becky doesn't read this type of book (horribly written, obviously only for popular consumption, mostly male-targeted) but they were on the cheap and a present from Dad. Dad who hasn't gotten her a birthday present since she was ten-years-old and he felt bad that he'd been divorced Mom and hadn't taken her with him, wasn't there anymore to open up the closet she'd be locked in because she broke the plate. They haven't talked in a while. He found her through Facebook, the social networking site quickly taking over MySpace that she casually decided to use since Rory from the library said it wasn't so obnoxious and filled with kids.

Mom's been dead for three years. 

_Prologue: Carry on My Wayward Son_

Oh God, she thinks, rolling her eyes. Even named after classic rock titles. What did Dad do, find the most testosterone fueled books he could? Then again, she  _is_ twenty-nine now, a whole fourteen years since the day he caught her kissing Marie Sinclair in the church parking lot and she didn't have any time to explain that  _no_ , she wasn't the one doing the kissing - her friend just ambushed her with it is all, you don't need to apologize all these years later with books that imply...something.

Well, she might not be most fashionable person in the world, but the majority of her wardrobe is made up of skirts. Skirts are cute. And cheaper than jeans. 

Then, suddenly:  _"'Dad's on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home in a few days.'"_

Next thing she knows, she's finished the ten her dad brought her and is already making plans to head out to the Borders the town over tomorrow to get the rest because screw it, the writing is almost as bad as  _Twilight_ , but the story's compelling enough that she can deal. Even if Carver Edlund does seem like he's trying too hard with the whole incest thing. But, still. The characters themselves are  _great._ And the dialogue is actually brilliant, once you get around everything that comes with it. If someone made it into a show, it would be good. Real good, actually. She'd watch the hell out of that.

She wonders what the boys look like. And she wonders what it must be like for Sam, who's the locked-in-closest, shoved-against-cars type, but has someone by his side to pick up the pieces.

 

 

Even though the guy's eyes are clear, Ryleigh's pretty sure he's on something. He keeps zoning out for short moments at a time, though maybe that's acting. He was caught on fraud using a fake credit card at a convenience store, and since the name he's giving won't check out (Sam Winchester died last year, idiot, try again - even if you do look sort of like the guy) and he has no other identification on him, they also have no idea who he is.

"You've been busy," Ryleigh says, taking the seat across from him with the list of items purchased with the fake card. "A lot of liquor and suddenly stopped. Why is that?"

The guy blinks and looks at him. Even though he's six four and looks like he's all muscle, he's definitely just a kid, Ryleigh sees at closer inspection. Twenty-four or twenty-five max. He isn't looking too good either, though that observation is hours old. Just that his eyes are so damn clear. There's no way the kid's even drunk, but the behavior's an awful lot like a druggie's. 

Crazy? Maybe. Larry on Pequot's got the same look bad. Lindy said 'Nam made his mind go stiff. Delayed reaction. This kid's the right age for the War on Terror. Could've come back, drunk a lot, someone got him clean. Still doesn't explain the fraud, though. Usually if someone's determined to get you cleaned, they're determined enough to make you stick around too (another Lindy quote - Ryleigh's wife says a lot of things, and he pays attention to all of them).

"So which one is it," he asks, changing his approach. "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

Again, it takes a moment for the guy to focus. "What?" he answers. "Oh, the war." But that's it, no elaboration. "Um. Why do your lights buzz?"

Right. Nevermind. Definitely on something. "Our lights don't -" he starts to say, but gets cut off by a very loud, very electric-sounding hum.

Then the electricity goes out and the glass explodes.

When the station gets the generator up and running again, there's no sign "Sam Winchester" even existed.

 

 

Making the show into a webseries is Maggie's idea because his sister's actually pretty awesome, Edd has to admit. She didn't even originally want to do this, either, but she works IT for the local school district, is better than most "professionals," and at the time was the only person they knew who could work her way around a camera. Spruce was kind of an accident, but a lucky one once you get past his bullshit. And, yeah, sure, it's kind of weird having Maggie date Harry but they're engaged now and that also means he and his best friend will literally be brothers in a couple of months and that's kind of cool. And making this into a webseries is cool too - start small, get advertisements, grow. Get back at the Winchesters for being complete fuckers.

That's the other thing. The day they actually mean to start planning it out turns into a ranting session because if there's one thing they can _all_ agree on, it's that the Winchesters blow. Self-righteous assholes think they're so much better than everyone else.  

Taking a sip of her Coke, Maggie says, "The only problem is that they really knew their stuff. We'd be dead if it weren't for them. And if we say it, we legally have to cite them."

None of them mention that one of them is dead anyway.

"Then we'll just have to make sure everyone knows they're horrible human beings," Edd answers, stabbing his pasta salad with his fork. Harry and his sister are getting dangerously close to cuddling again. During their ruined pilot, he said something wonderfully worded and perfect and  _unseen because those fucking Winchesters_ about their experience changing them and part of it was just for audience appeal, but it was half true at the same time. They don't talk about it because that would be weird, but from what he and Spruce manage to gather, the two of them were more into fucking than the romantic crap before then.

Harry nods. "Give the disclaimer," he adds. "Also never say their first names. That way we're  _technically_ citing them but -"

"Aren't bringing it to their attention," Spruce finishes.

Ever since he was a kid, Edd's hated guys like that, the ones that can walk into a room and think that no matter what's going on, they can immediately take over just because they're attractive and took a public speaking class somewhere down the line. Probably in high school. Neither of them dress like they've been to college, so at least he's got that over them even if it's just community.

"You know," Maggie says, throwing her empty Coke can towards the trash and only making it in by using the garage wall as a backboard, "sometimes webseries can actually make a lot of money, even if they never make it to TV. We can go international if we get enough, hit up the famous places."

"Leave America to those dweebs," Harry says, and smiles. It quickly falls off though. "Bet more people would watch  _them._ "

Edd swears, they're on the same wavelength or something. "We'll get super attractive interns," he says. "Eye candy will make people watch."

"And Maggie will be with us."

"You're a fucking loser, Harry."

"I'll stick behind the camera," Spruce says. "After last time - no. I'll do those little interviews and that's it."

Nudging him with the toe of her shoe, Maggie tells him, "Don't be like that. Just because the McDreamy Cancer Twins were next to you half the time doesn't mean you're bad to look at."

He frowns. Edd knows how he feels. Fuckers. "The taller one got lost too," he says. "They're not perfect." Even when they think they are.

"Sam and Dean, right?" Harry says. "They're brothers, I think. That's what they said the first time. Sam's younger, but Dean's shorter. Assholes got us arrested."

"Ugh, I don't even want to  _think_ about those guys right now." Maggie stands, pushes back her chair. "I'm going to go call the florist. If I do it early enough I can get those super awesome zombie roses. Love you, guys."

Then she leans down and gives Harry a kiss on the forehead. Spruce gets out their planner. Because screw the Winchesters, if they can do it, the Ghostfacers definitely can.

 

 

"Chuck? Chuck? You there?"

Becky bites her bottom lip, relocks the door. His shoes are right here at the entrance way along with his coat hanging over the back his chair in front of the TV. She can see a sliver of the bedroom, door open with the lamp off and the bathroom light does this humming thing that's so loud you can even hear it downstairs, so that's not on either. The bad feeling hit the moment she got out of the car and she tripped get up the stairs, got another run in her tights. She moved in with Chuck four months ago once they found out they weren't actually all that far from each other and from his place her work commute would only be half an hour instead of two. World is ending anyway, they could move fast if they wanted, and she fell more in love with him by the day, if would you believe that. But he makes her feel special, like he found a zipper on her back, undid it and pulled out this new Becky Rosen someone can actually find worthwhile.

Though she wants to, she doesn't call his name again, and waits another six hours before calling the police. The officer is a woman, reminds her of a duck and blonde, and a few others do a sweep of the place. Fifteen minutes into questioning, another cop comes out carrying a huge box with a letter on top. Her name's written in Chuck's scratchy handwriting. Officer May moves back, lets her put the thing on the table. Even before she opens the envelop, everyone's eyes are saying, "We're sorry," and, "Who was it instead of you?" because of _course_ no one would willingly stay with a woman like her. They can't see it. Suddenly she can't see it anymore either. Wishful thinking, she thinks.

But hey, at least they made it seven months. Or maybe that's just the Apocalypse talking.

Somehow, she manages to hold everything back when she says, "I'm sorry for wasting your time."

Everyone leaving is blurry after that, and she's not sure how she goes from shutting the door to ending up back in the dining room chair with the envelop in hand.  _Rebekka._ Not even her nickname. Her real, full name she hasn't used on anything but formal paperwork since...ever.  _Rebekka._ She can hear Mom's voice, clear and unfiltered by time - "Rebekka Claire, you swap that pen for the spade or I'll burn your story and your hands before you can say delusional," and her own, "But, Mamma, but they're  _delusions_ , I'm writing a love story!"

Mom burned her notebook and splashed her with boiling water. She still had to weed the garden and plant the mums.

The note reads, 

_Becky,_

_I love you, and I'm sorry. For everything._

_Here's the rest of the series. 44 books, one unrelated short story. It's up to you what to do._

_Again, I'm just really, really sorry._

_\- Chuck_

She opens up the box. Every story bound in brown paper, labeled. She doesn't sift through.  _It's up to you what to do._ If this were fiction, she'd dig a hole in the back yard, bury it deep in a grave, but that's not really up to her is it? Rebekka Claire Rosen, dating a "Prophet of the Lord." It's not up to her. But it is up to her if she reads it, which she won't. Even this unrelated short story. In there is probably the Supernatural Convention, too. She doesn't need to make things worse by reading Dean's opinion of her. Or Sam's, for that matter.

Two days later she calls Sera Seige about new books to publish. She spends a good half hour after that screaming at the box like it's Chuck and it sits there on the table, taking abuse. 

It doesn't make her feel any better.

 

 

Sam and Dean are real. 

Sam and Dean are  _real._

"Did you know?" Sera asks Becky over the phone. "I mean, they are, right? There's no way the dialogue would this spot on otherwise. I never told Chuck where the -"

" _Yes, they're real_ ," the woman interrupts, followed by the sounds of shuffled paper. " _Like, the entire thing. They're both great guys. Look, I didn't read books. Are they...okay?_ "

Oh. Right. Becky's met them on honest terms. To Sera, real or not, they're still some fictional wonders. Superheroes, living legends, urban legends she's met in their Clark Kent glasses for five seconds. She's having trouble wrapping her mind around the idea that this isn't all some hoax, that she  _didn't_ tell the real Dean that men don't cry when they're baby brother - oh God, such tragic little lives. So strong. How do they live? And through an Apocalypse like that? But she's not really surprised Becky didn't read them. She really can't imagine what it would be like to go home and find Harold missing like that.

Apparently the police hadn't been much of a help. Maybe she should call the Winchesters. Ha.

Back on topic. "Uh, no," she says awkwardly, because she's not sure if Becky kept in contact with them after the Supernatural Convention since she gave them the lead and all. Lucky bitch, getting to snuggle up to them like that. Especially Dean. She doesn't know how chill she could be in real life knowing about the demon blood. Hell, she even suggested to Chuck that he take it out, that it could make the "character" too unsympathetic to fans. Again, ha. But back on topic. End result, tragic regardless of opinion, so she continues, "Sam...He, um. Well -"

" _Spit it out, Sera._ "

"SamstoppedtheApocalypsebykillinghimselfandtakingtheDevilwithhim."

Silence. " _Right,_ " says the other woman eventually. " _What about Dean? The books are mostly in his point of view. It has to say something._ "

"He went to live with Lisa and Ben." It takes a lot of effort to ask if Sam/Dean is an exaggeration because the moment she read  _Lazarus Rising,_ she knew the rapidly growing fanbase was going to fall hard for Castiel. She wonders if angels are real too and if they’re really that cruel. "Is that -"

" _Yeah._ "

Again, silence. Sera's about to say goodbye when she remembers the random story at the bottom. "Oh, yeah, Beck," she says. "One last thing. He wrote a short story he wants published under his real name and the writing is like completely different, so I've got to know, did you write it?"

" _What? No. I'm not a good writer. I haven't written in a year._ "

Hm. Well, that's a shame, Sera thinks, flipping through the pages. It's a beautiful story. Maybe this is what happens when Chuck isn't hindered by blinding migraines brought on by archangels. Oh God. That's a sentence. That's a _real_ sentence. "It's called 'Monkey on the Sun,'" she tells her friend. "Do you -"

" _I've got to go._ "

Becky hangs up and Sera stares in shock at the phone, wondering what the Hell just happened.

 

 

Even though Paul and Lisa are technically only related through marriage, he's known her since she was two and was as protective over her as any blood brother would be even before he and Sally finally got together their senior year of high school like everyone said they would. And it's a good thing, too; Lisa's got the type of beauty that attracts every man in a hundred miles, has since the day she turned thirteen, and went through a stage where the name-calling from other girls got to her and she fed into it. All that ended with Ben though, so he was surprised to hear she took in some random guy she had a thing with when she was twenty (and saved her kid, according to Sally, but the details on that seem hazy) like it was nothing. Or like it was something, maybe, and that makes it even worse.

And he's really pretty pissed that it takes him almost six months to meet the guy. But hey, holidays are the only excuse to fly halfway across the country.

He's not sure what he was expecting either (he hasn't seen any clear pictures), but it definitely wasn't this green-eyed, plaid-wearing, Sweet On America looking man of about thirty telling Ben, "Hey, your mom and I worked hard on that pie. No touching until desert."

"But -"

"Actually no touching with grubby fingers at all. Go wash your hands."

"De -"

"Ben."

His nephew sighs and goes off to wash his hands. Lisa looks at her boyfriend like he's the whole world. Jesus Christ. He glances down at Sally, whose mouth has fallen open. 

Sliding up next to this _boyfriend_  fellow, Lisa says, "Dean, this is my sister Sally and her husband Paul. Their son's with his girlfriend, but I think I already said that. Guys, this is my boyfriend, Dean Winchester."

Paul shakes his hand. Sally gives him a hug. They all pass around, "Nice to meet you," and, "Shame you couldn't meet Kyle."

"Where are you from?" Paul asks because this guy might've made a good first impression (accidentally, too), but that doesn't mean everything.

This question is followed by a very awkward moment where he and Lisa do that couple thing where they have a whole conversation with just their eyes, something he and Sally are pros at - even if he can't help her cook Thanksgiving pie. Finally, Dean says, "Sioux Falls, South Dakota."

Sally pushes her hair out of her face, puts her bag down on the couch. "You two met when you -" she starts to say, but gets broken off by Ben reemerging from the bathroom, planting himself between his mom and her boyfriend like  _Make Room for Jesus_ but not in the  _I Hate a Problem with You, Mom Stealer_ way but more in the _You’re Really Awesome, Thanks Mom For Not Picking Someone Creepy_ way. Then Ben sees them, rushes over and gives them hugs, another round of greetings.

Yeah, Paul's dad went through a lot of girlfriends. He knows the flipside of the situation. "Can we sit down?" Ben asks. "I'm hungry. Dean wouldn't let me eat."

"That's not true," he says as Lisa ushers everyone over to the half-set table, "you had a granola bar half an hour ago."

"No, I didn't."

"Who else put the wrapper in the trash? Casper?"

Again, Lisa gives him The Look. "Dean also made the mash potatoes," she adds, taking a seat, "but you'll get to try those when Mom and Dad come."

This is actually only lunch that they're having now because plane rides automatically leave you hungry, and the big dinner is saved for five when the girls' parents arrive. "Wait," Sally says, "so you actually cook? As in, not just help."

"Uh, sometimes." He looks embarrassed. Huh. Paul wouldn't have taken him for an "embarrassment" type of guy. Actually he can't really guess much of anything about him - his accent's nothing in particular, so there was no way to know South Dakota without being told, Ben obviously  _loves_ him so he can't be too strict but he seems quick minded too, and he definitely doesn't look a guy who should have any skill in the kitchen. With cars maybe. Or some form of sports. Or an executive of a marketing corporation. Except not, because he doesn't exactly dress like he comes from that good of a background.

Shit, and now Paul sounds judgmental. There's a thin line between being protective and being an asshole and right now he isn't seeing much of a reason for either.

Then Sally goes, "Lisa, you've  _got_ to let me borrow this one."

"Auntie!"

"Honey!"

"What?"

"You have your own husband!"

His wife laughs and when Dean blushes, the tips of his ears go red.

 

 

Kaitlyn wasn't even supposed to work today. It's just that she didn't want to work on November second, so she swapped Lorraine for the day after Thanksgiving so her friend didn't have to worry about waitressing with a hangover even though waitressing while high on painkillers isn't much better. And of  _course_ this just has to lead to the world's strangest coincidence because he might look really different, but she's at least seventy-five percent sure Sam Winchester, her sister's college boyfriend that vanished a week after the funeral (and after the police gave him the all clear so he could go take some time to fix his head), just took a seat in her station. Normally she isn't much of a risk taker, but  _damn_ is this tempting.

Deciding to take the initiative because Jess would've wanted her too, she finds her boss in the back and tells him this order might take a little longer than usual, that she thinks she recognizes one of the people but isn't sure. He waves her off, says it doesn't matter because even the regulars aren't here. She thanks him and quickly turns back.

Almost instantly she wants to chicken out, but is heartened when she hears the shorter man (Dean, her mind supplies her, Sam said at Thanksgiving that he had a brother named Dean and never gave the name of his parents, her whole family still thinks he was abused) say, "Sammy, we're still not making it to Paterson before nighttime whether we drive nonstop or not. So stop being a bitch and order your rabbit food before you pass out again."

Okay, then. Definitely Sam. Jess thought she didn't know, but she overheard the conversation her sister had with Mom about how he didn't really eat and that's not exactly normal for a guy, so the bit of info stuck. Actually, a lot about Sam stuck. Inevitably. Her, Mom, and Dad all talk about him still sometimes. Poor guy. Sees brother for the first time in years, finds apartment burning, loses everything. He tried to save her too, and the cop who spoke to him accidently let slip he broke down crying during the interview, but that’s no surprise. Yeah, it hadn't been pretty. Apparently all the photos burned up too - Dad gave him one of Jess that they had that was the right size for a wallet, but Kaitlyn's sure it wasn't the same.

"Hi," she says, slapping a smile on her face as she comes around to their table and trying to work up the nerve. "Uh, Sam Winchester?"

For a moment, he looks like totally freaked which is weird but whatever. He quickly relaxes into surprises, though, and says, " _Katie?_ Seriously?" and stands up.

"Yeah, it's me," she says, giving him a hug. "Oh my god, this is so weird."

Sam glances at his brother awkwardly, who is now standing awkwardly too because sometimes rules of politeness are just a little awkward. "This is Katie Moore," he says, which officially marks him as the only person outside of her family who calls her Katie. Well, besides her high school soccer coach but he's, like, epically creepy. "Jess' sister."

"Oh yeah, we met for half a second," Dean says and Katie goes in for a hug because she likes hugs and that's what everyone does around school instead of handshakes. Too formal. Much less awkward this way too. "How've you been?"

"I've been great," she says, which is true. Sure, her parents are disappointed she's not another Jess and she didn't get into an Ivy League but that's why she ran all the way here to Pennsylvania instead of stuck to California. "I'm a sophomore in college, doing my next semester in Greece. No one told me over here was so  _cold._ "

When Sam smiles, he still has the same old dimples. As a kid, she never got to appreciate how cute he actually is, but both he and his brother are really something else. She wonders if Jess is watching over her now. If somehow this is fate or whatever, meeting the Winchester brothers all the way across the country in November years after her sister died. Do people become angels after they die? If angels even exist. Kaitlyn's not really big into the whole religion thing, but the Vicodin is making her both brave and philosophical apparently. At least the orthodontist put her on a low enough dose that she can do this without messing up. Actually, maybe the only reason Sam was able to recognize her is because the surgery's left her with chipmunk cheeks until further notice and she had these as a kid. 

Dean says, "Yeah, Pennsylvania winters are brutal. We got stuck in a snowstorm here once."

Back to the angels though - if Jess is an angel, maybe she orchestrated it. Like, suddenly made Dean realize, Oh, wait, my brother's a fucking idiot and needs to eat something so, ooo, this looks like a nice diner, wonder if there's good food (hint: there is).

"I used to think snow was cool until I actually had to live with it," she answers, flipping her hair over her shoulder. God, there's just so much she wants to  _say_ but she also doesn't want to come across as a high lunatic right now, which is kind of what she feels like. Even meeting Sam Winchester after all these years isn't enough to change that. Sam Winchester who is wearing a sweater. Who is looking very fine in a sweater. Like that, missing Jess is a stab in the heart. And then an extra twist. "So what're you guys doing here?"

"Our uncle called us for some help," Sam says, leaning back against the booth, "so Dean picked me up and we're heading over."

 _Uncle._ Oh cool. That also means he's reconnecting with his family. That had been a super awkward gap in Thanksgiving conversation because Jess threatened them by pain of death not to question him past, like, names. She hadn't remembered that his brother had green eyes. They're practically the same color as Rapunzel's from  _Tangled._

Wow, talk about a damper. Disney princesses are not something she wants to connect with cute older men (Sam must be twenty-seven and if Dean’s older, he’s at minimum twenty-eight, she figures).

"Awesome," she says with utter sincerity and tells them to sit. "Anyway, this is still a diner and you came from food, so orders?" They order and when she comes back with drinks, she adds, "Oh, and Sam? Think I can have your number or something? It sounds like you're in a hurry and I really want to catch up."

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Once you get past the obvious, he actually isn't all that different. Same eyes, same smile, same birthmarks. "Sure," he says, then glances at his brother. "Thanks for the drinks, Katie."

She smiles. "Be back with your food in a minute."

After they get their food, they eat fast, and it isn't until she goes home later and strips down that she realizes he didn't leave anything extra with the tip.

 

 

The Internet went wild the moment news of the Carver Edlund books hit and around Barnes' thirty-third birthday,  _The Real Ghostbusters_ comes out. Supposedly the author had all the books written and everything by the time he got the money to publish again, so one comes out every two months. This worked out pretty well the way they staggered it, Barnes and Demian reading a chapter out loud at night for the world's worst excuse for a bedtime story. 

_But then there's this._

"Um," Barnes says, stuttering out once they get introduced because they can recognize each other even if not by name and that night was so strange that they remember a lot of what they said word for word too. "Dude. What."

Then he reads off the rest of the section and looks up.

It takes Demian a moment to figure out what this means. "So...No," he says, shaking his head. "No possible. I mean - they have the  _Apocalypse_ in this. Angels and demons and teddy bears that come to life from cursed coins and -"

"Vengeful spirits of creepy ghost children that haunt book conventions?"

Okay, so his soon-to-be-legal-husband's got him there. "No," he says again. "No way, because that means I told off  _Dean_ about what his life  _means._ "

Barnes, the little bastard, starts laughing, burying his face into the pillow to stifle it. "Jesus," he says. "This is the best news since I got the job in Boston."

"You know," he says picking up the book and looking at what he now knows to be a horribly drawn depiction of the boys (who are actually so attractive it shouldn't be legal), "my dad always said we were going to Hell for this, right? Guess this just proved him wrong.  _There's a Monster at the End of this Book_ says Edlund was a prophet. This was prophet writing about two brothers fucking."

Sitting up now, Barnes drapes himself over Demian's back, gives him a stupid schmoopy kiss on the cheek. Totally a better Sam and Dean than - wow,  _so_ much creepier now. "Do you think they'll get back together?" he asks because in the book, the brothers are currently the closest to broken up that they ever will be. But, well, Sam drank demon blood (ugh, up the ick factor by about a thousand on that too) and almost turned himself into a demon, so that makes sense. "They must be so hot together."

 _Hot together_ is about the understatement of the century. He's pretty sure those guys were nothing but concentrated sex on legs and Barnes will back him up on that in a heartbeat. "Wish we'd known, though," he says absently, realizing it's kind of stupid how easily they dismissed it considering they'd just gotten proof that the Life (Edlund always capitalized it in the books, which Demian thought was cool) was real. "We could've said something useful - like about that voicemail. God, everything is suddenly so much worse."

"Wow, religion is even more dickish than we thought." Barnes leans away from him, grabs his water. "We also could've tried that he's not worthless and his brother still loves him, though he probably would've decked us for that. Hm. It'd probably have to have been about Sam. Nice or mean about him would get us killed."

"Maybe we could finally be the ones to give him the heads up that Sam's a depressive asshat."

"Did you just call a real life person an asshat?"

"Yes, yes I did."

A pause while Barnes puts the water back and fumbles to grab the book from his hands, finding their part. "We're halfway through," he says, "and tomorrow's Saturday. If we keep flipping we should be finished by morning."

"Okay."

Well, at least now they know what the boys look like, Demian supposes, and prepares himself for a very interesting night.

 

 

Dirty and covered in grime, but Dean Winchester's blood is still a scent Lenore could recognize from a mile away. He's surrounded by monsters, elegantly killing, and her mind goes instantly to not-so-little Sam who he must be fighting home for. She's heard of a portal - a human portal, even - that acts as an exit not far from here, and well, she thinks in this split second decision of ridiculous proportions, maybe that's a good trade for a couple day's company.

Unfortunately, it's a free-for-all. She starts running, feeling a few seconds of fleeting happiness for the first time since Eve appeared, goes to call his name, and doesn't notice the teeth at the back of her neck until it's too late.

When it's over, Dean finally notices her and holds her hand until she dies because she doesn't want him to kill her this time around either. Not when he already looks so horrified.

He never tells Sam.

 

 

"I'm sorry."

Jody looks up from where she's chopping vegetables, relieved the lights are back on. "Why?" she asks, throwing them into the pan as Sam takes as seat. He's look a little pale again, which is worrying her. She knows how bad he feels about her hospitality, but she's not really caring about his opinion right now; Dean's gone but not dead, he has no one else, and he's blatantly ill. She's got no one either and has a spare room that's been going cold for a while. And it's not like he's just slumming either since he's fixed up her house and practically the whole neighborhood.

People still remember him as Bobby's youngest nephew. The blood relation might not be true, but he's an overgrown puppy with dimples made of sunshine and every available (and some not so available) woman is in love with him. 

Biting his lip, he answers, "The lights," like that's supposed to be an answer.

"Sam, you fixed them. And the generator."

But he's already shaking his head. She starts on the tomatoes. "I don't mean to do it," he says. "Sometimes I just...get stressed. It's rare, probably won't happen again for a long time. I can leave if you want."

She almost says that's not possible before she remembers this is Sam, he already has Hell-induced PTSD. "You'll leave when you can hold down more than a helping of food," she tells him because he’s six-four. "What happened?"

"Just -" He pause. Then, shockingly honest, he continues, "I had a flashback."

Oh. "Have you thought about seeing a psychiatrist?"

"Yeah, a few times." He looks down. "Maybe. It's a long story, but I don't know if it'll work. For now I just need to concentrate on getting Dean back and cleaning up our mess. What little is left. That's why I can't stay."

Even though she gets that, she still thinks it sucks. She's had a soft spot for Sam since day one for the worst possible reason. He walked into her house because they were right and she was wrong and never rubbed it in her face but shoved a gun in her hand and didn't let her panic. That's just what he does. And since he kept her from falling to pieces, she owes it to him to do the same. But more than that she  _wants_ to. Not just because of that, or because he's the boy who saved the world and  _no one else seems to care about it._

Sam Winchester's her friend. That's good enough for her.

"Then eating comes first," she says, putting a plate in front of him. Finding out he's so bad about food that he insisted that no, he doesn't have a disorder before she could ask was surprising. Until she realized most of his bulk just came from how wide his shoulders are, that is. "Easiest way to get Dean back is to take care of yourself first. Fainting and ending up in hospitals isn't the way to do that."

Again, he bites his lip. Then he nods. "This is better than what I normally eat," he admits when she gets a plate for herself too. "Except for college, I've lived off of diner and five minute motel food my whole life." He pauses, then adds, "That sounds really selfish."

"Actually it sounds normal," she says, thinking about her exploded lights and the blood condition the doctor at the hospital mentioned. With a shrug, she says, "Just roll with it. If you have to take a year off or something, concentrate on  _just_ looking for Dean, you're welcome to crash here. No one would - what's the matter?"

Not even finished speaking and he's already shaking his head. "Hunting tires me out," he says. "If I get something hard enough, I'm so tired I don't get nightmares, stay asleep for four hours straight without taking anything. So...thank you, but I can't. I'll check in, though."

"A lot. Promise me, Sam."

"A lot. I promise."

Jody's pretty sure this is a different sort of heartbreak.

 

 

Charlie's in a bookstore, perusing the sci-fi section without her headphones in for once when she sees three whole shelves taken up by these books titled  _Supernatural._ She picks up what must be number one,  _The Woman in White._ The names Sam and Dean get an eye roll out of her, but the back barely gives a description at all and sounds too campy while still hitting too close to home after her recent encounter with the boys, and she goes to put it back. 

Before she can, though, a voice says, "You should buy it. The dialogue's great and once you get past the writing around it, they're actually pretty good."

Turning around, she finds a man with a scruffy beard and a store shirt on leaning back against the shelves, arms crossed. His nametag reads  _Chuck._ "Really?" she says, skeptical.

"Oh yeah," the guy answers. "It's great. Two brothers have crap luck and fight ghosts and fairies and stuff."

 _Fairies._ That definitely gets a jolt out of her. "Guess that doesn't sound too bad." She sounds uncertain, even to herself. Not particularly royal, even though she's still in half-garb and that's usually a half-power trip. "How's the dialogue great but the writing bad?"

With a shrug, the guy says, "Don't know how to explain it. The writing sounds like how I imagine bad fanfiction would read, but the dialogue is realistic, two brothers bantering in an old Impala -"

"You've sold me," she cuts in because what the fuck, there's no way in Heaven or Hell or even goddamn Purgatory for the love of Tolkien that's a coincidence. 

Chuck smiles. "Fan of old cars?"

Uh. Yeah. Can't say the truth, dumbass, she thinks. "Yeah," she lies, and turns around. 

First ten, she decides when she sees they're five dollars. Is she prepared to spend over fifty dollars (fucking tax) on books when she hasn't even read the first one? Um, of course. Books and cons, the only two things she can, with a clear conscience, blow over twenty-five on like it's nothing. Because she might be thirty but that doesn't make being an adult any less scary. Not when you've been dodging the police since you were twelve.

Except that she's not thinking about that right now. Or ever.

Once she has them all stacked like a high school freshman, she turns around, ready to thank Chuck only to realize he's not there. Whoops. Should've remembered her manners earlier. Stupid Charlie, she thinks without real venom and heads to the front of the store, glad to find no line on this lazy Thursday afternoon and neatly dumping all the books in front of the cashier who's not Chuck. This is a girl with a splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose and brown eyes named  _Brittini._ Creative parents are creative. Sigh.

As the girl rings up the purchase, she asks, "You got infected?"

"What?" Charlie answers, confused again.

"Tumblr, duh," Creative Brittini says because people absolutely say duh in real life. "Everyone on the fandom side gets infected eventually."

Charlie, like any self-respecting, non-creepy, very human LARPer has a tumblr, but she hasn't had time to check in a while. And even then, she's all The Tolkien and  _Harry Potter_ fandoms, though lately her friends have been getting her into  _Doctor Who_ and  _Sherlock_ too.

Oh. 

_Oh._

This must be the Super in Superwholock.  _Dumbass._ God.

Again, she lies, "Yeah," even though there's no harm in saying that Chuck guy suggested them. For whatever reason that just doesn't feel right. She scans the store, but she doesn't see him.

Creative Brittini tells her the total. She hands over the card, decides to see whether or not her suspicions are confirmed about this really being her sort of friends before checking or blacklisting the tag. Handing over her bag, the girl says, "Hey, if you keep buying from here and you get past  _Lucifer Rising_ , you should, like, totally tell me if you ship Sam-Dean or destiel. My friend and I having a bet going on."

Fucking Hell,  _ships?_ "Are either of them canon?" she asks anyway just because she's been really pretty sure since she met them that Sam and Dean are more than brothers. Especially last time when she decided to do a friendly social call and while it didn't end in disaster, she's a more perceptive brat than people give her credit for and Sam was totally about to derail into a panic attack before Dean did...something.

"Yup. But that's spoilers." The girl smiles. "Well, nice meeting you."

"Yeah, you too," she answers distractedly, and has never been so glad to leave a bookstore in her life.

 

 

"BUT SAM BASICALLY COMMITTED SUICIDE, BRITTINI."

"I KNOW AND IT BROKE MY HEART, CHARLIE. WHAT WILL DEAN DO WITHOUT HIS SOULMATE?"

"I NEED CHOCOLATE."

"WELL I OFFER CHOCOLATE AND FLUFFY PILLOWS SO GET YOUR ASS HERE RIGHT NOW."

"OKAY."

Brittini hangs up and rearranges her room for character death therapy.

 

 

Charlie knows Sam is alive and  _still_ spends three days in mourning.

 

 

A week after they get an offer to move to an actual channel, Maggie stumbles across the  _Supernatural_ series on her Kindle. She hasn't thought about that angel in a while and doesn't feel like spending money, so with a few choice searches on Google and a couple other easy steps, she access them all for free. Edd and Harry are out with Laura and John, the accountant and lawyer, meeting with the television people. They're older now, the job having moved from something of a joke and a favor for her to work she really loves, all things considered. Also, Harry's a great husband. He joins her when she gets one of her stupid whims, like randomly deciding to rearrange the living room furniture at two in the morning. Sweetheart. 

The furniture, she might add, that Edd and the others chipped in as their wedding presents. It's a nice set too, not something you'd expect from a group of idiots who run a reality ghost hunting show. Mom and Dad both thought they were throwing their lives away (haha, showed them, so much better than school district IT), but they scraped up the money for plane tickets to Hawaii. Harry swears the haunted hotel was just a silly coincidence.

Later, she tells her original crew, "It's dead accurate," because their on-camera members might have expanded by three but their ruined pilot solidified a friendship bubble no one else can really understand. Even though Edd _is_ now dating Phaedra. Also a sweetheart, though maybe on the younger side, recent college grad and all. "The rest of it must be too."

"Did we really sound that retarded back then?" Edd says, peering over her husband's shoulder. "Wow, we were arrogant little shits."

"If this true, they're messed up," Spruce says. "Guess I was wrong about cancer. And yuck, they're _brothers._  You read the rest?"

She shakes her head. "Felt too weird," she answers and she thinks that she might've when she was younger, back when she first met them or even a year later when Not Jesus popped up in the living room closet of Edd's house. Off screen, now, they've all mellowed out. Like, to the point they have to use an outline script because the people they started out as are just characters now. "You know what this means, though, right?" she adds, getting down to the important business. "We use  _Ghostfacers_ and we might run into copyright issues. Or at least fans noticing. I looked it up. This has cult status. Almost as small a fanbase as us, but they're freaky into it enough that someone's going to notice and not realize this isn't fictional."

Edd and Harry exchange a look, probably thinking back to the first name. Maggie's relieved when her brother finally says, "We'll ask the agent about a new title."

Fucking Winchesters.

 

 

On the night of the meteor shower, Becky gets a knock on her door. She's crashed hard from a long day at work and it takes her a moment to actually get there. She finds a man slumped against the wall, his light hair disheveled, dark eyes visibly unfocused. There's blood on his back, ash on his head. 

Before she can say anything, he asks, "Are you Rebekka Rosen? Friend of Dean Winchester? Shared the Prophet's bed?"

"Um," she answers because  _friends_ isn't a term she'd use to describe her relationship with either Winchester but he mentioned Chuck by title and that ash is looking an awful lot like a halo, oh no. "Yes."

He slumps forward and she manages to catch him in time, this stranger's weight slumped against hers. "We all Fell," he mumbles. "We all Fell so far. Metatron took our wings."

It's dangerous and stupid, but she lets him in, shuts and locks the door behind her, and sets him up in the guest room. Takes off his shoes like you do when a person is drunk, even. She didn't have to do that with Chuck often. Once they started living together and she saw how much he was drinking, she cut him off, got him through his migraines with Advil, dark rooms, and wet wash clothes over his eyes. He said it worked too, better than black-out drinking ever did.

Then he was gone.

Next morning the Fallen angel says his name is Arariel and he was the cure for stupidity. Before he Fell, a voice led him here and he didn't understand at the time. He explains all this while she gets him food because he's only been on Earth twice before thousands of years ago. She feels like a maid and wonders when she started serving Heaven breakfast.

"You're welcome to stay," she tells him, sipping her coffee and relieved it's a Saturday so she doesn't need to leave this stranger alone. "It's just me. I'm sure I can get my hands on Sam and Dean's number. They'll know what's going on."

Arariel smiles gratefully. "You're very kind, Rebekka."

"Just Becky. Please."

"But Rebekka is such a beautiful name."

She looks at him blankly. "She was buried in secret so her evil son wouldn't disrespect her burial," she says. "What's so beautiful about that?"

It takes five weeks to fulfill her promise and the Arariel never calls her Rebekka again.

 

 

"I don't know, they're both pretty hot," Casey answers when Ana asks which one she likes better, eyeing the two men a couple booths down. "Work partners or, like, gay?"

Ana munches on a French fry saturated in ketchup and watches. The green eyes on the shorter one give her a spark of recognition she can't quite place, but she doesn't try too hard to figure it out; Rutgers was huge, there was a possibility he sat in front of her in class and she just never noticed. Though he looks about ten years older than her, maybe more. Tall Guy seems pretty familiar too. "That one looks sick," she says. "And not sure."

Her friend, as usual, sticks to salad. Puberty brought Casey a splash of acne, the slap-on diagnosis of anxiety that resulted in meds that caused weight gain, and obsessive dieting ever since. Tall Guy's eating salad too and Ana appreciates Green Eyes' burger. "You know they look kind of alike," Casey points out. "They could also be related."

When her phone vibrates, both their eyes zoom towards it, but the screen doesn't light up. Just email then. Probably about student loans, or American Eagle. In the other booth, Green Eyes laughs. "Sick or not, at least they look happy," she says finally, not letting herself feeling the disappointment  _again._ Five hours ago she'd texted Charlie, but so far she hadn't gotten a one back. After all the slutting around she did in high school and as young as middle school even, it's amazing she finally had the balls to ask out a chick. Wouldn't have done it, either, if it weren't for Casey and her endless wheedling. Plus Charlie's cool, willing to go out with her even though she's a plain lesbian and Ana can still get off sleeping with guys just fine. Turns out that isn't as common as campus life tried to make it sound. LBGT community where everyone accepts everyone except not really.

The men call for their check. She eats another soggy fry. She hates Ohio, the only plus side dragging her best friend with her. New Hampshire was better, and New Jersey that times by about a thousand and a half as close to New York City as it is. Rose, the waitress, hands Green Eyes the bill. Tall Guy's not finished with his salad and his work partner/friend/boyfriend/brother/all of the above even, maybe isn't pleased. Ana empathizes, felt it often enough in ninth grade when Casey suddenly jumped from ninety-eight pounds to one o' five like it's so huge when she's been one forty-two since sophomore year and both genders still think she's hot. Then again, her mom's not some washed out fashion designer rich girl who threw away her dreams to marry the guy she fell in love with in her freshman  year of college only to find out he wasn't up to par with her old upbringing. It was like something straight out of a Weimar Republic Louis Brooks film, except without the prostitution or any of the darker stuff so that's actually a shitty comparison.

Anyway, that divorce hadn't been pretty. Same summer that Casey had her first shot of jungle juice. Ana lost her virginity. They fought and didn’t talk for six months. Life happens. They move on. As Vonnegut says, "So it goes."

She runs her fingers through her hair. "Charlie lives in  _Kansas_ ," she says, her own rare anxiety suddenly welling up because she's not letting the first time she asks out a girl end in disaster. "I mean, she said she's in Ohio all the time for work, but -"

"I still don't even think you should be out town yet, Sammy," Green Eyes says and Ana swears she turns around so fast it shouldn't be possible because  _oh_ , that's why he looked so familiar. "You -"

"Dean -" Oh. My. God. They really are the two from that day back in middle school when she and Anna crouched behind the bench and listened them to them talk relationship probs. "I can't be locked in forever. And she called me -"

"Yeah, because Becky's such a good -"

And like that they're gone, the door shutting with the bell jangling behind them. Slowly she turns around and Casey's eyes are as wide as hers feel. "Did that seriously just happen?" her friend says, still staring at the door. "I mean, like did that  _actually_ happen. Because it's been like nine years."

"Case, the only reason we even remembered them was because they were hot," she answers. "And somehow - Case. Casey. It's happening. This can't be serious. That. No."

"Annie? What is it?"

 _My hotel room. Six_ ,Charlie's text reads.  _Room service, faux candles, and a movie._

Accidently louder than she means to, she screams, "I've got a date!" so everyone hears.

For the first time in her life, she gets a full round of applause. And it feels awesome.

**Author's Note:**

> Charlie implies that books detailing after season three was published, but Chuck disappears after season five. Someone had to send them in.
> 
> Also I'm like the one person in the world who liked a lot of season seven, but I refuse to believe Time for the Wedding happens because Sam has so much shit done to him, and gets tied down so often, and just spent like five thousand years give or take being raped in the Cage and it was just so unnecessary so that doesn't exist in this world. But that still doesn't explain why I did this to poor Becky. I'm such a bad person.
> 
> And seriously, how much cooler would Lenore have been as an already established female character with pre-existing connections to the boys?


End file.
